


Bruised For Our Iniquities

by shamelessnameless



Series: Bore Our Suffering [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Harry Potter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremely Dubious Consent, Falling In Love, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omega Severus Snape, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Trauma, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21550729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessnameless/pseuds/shamelessnameless
Summary: It’s more than he ever hoped to have.--Part two of Bore Our Suffering.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: Bore Our Suffering [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553026
Comments: 22
Kudos: 357





	Bruised For Our Iniquities

**Author's Note:**

> This idea did not let me go so easily - have a part two!
> 
> Caution: The first scene deals with an attempted rape between two main characters of the books (not of this series though). It features forced kissing and touching. 
> 
> The last scene talks implicitly about childhood sexual abuse. This work deals with massive sexual trauma suffered from rape (and somewhat healing from it, as much as you ever can); read with caution.

**2005**

Just when Severus thinks it is going better all goes to hell.

His heat has come on naturally, a few short months after he’d topped Harry and for once in his life he doesn’t want to suppress it. It’s a manic, idiotic thought, but he needs it, needs another heat with Harry to sort out the jumbling mess of thoughts and needs and cravings he’d been having after their last.

He isn’t sure, not yet, and maybe never but he’s willing to at least give it an honest try; to maybe, potentially, possibly allow Harry in his life as a partner and not just the man who fucks him. 

He sends a patronus with an urgent call, knows Harry will answer. He can smell himself; he hasn’t been this hot, this aroused in ages, must resist touching himself.

In retrospect, after some time, he can admit that Harry is not to blame for what follows; Severus has not ever called on him like this and the jump to conclude that something is seriously wrong with Severus is not a big one.

Harry brings Weasley.

It takes Harry a moment longer to connect the dots; as Severus’s alpha, he’s more immune to Severus’s pheromones than anyone else. But Weasley smells him right away, crowds against him in a second, hands already touching before Severus can go for his wand. The heat makes him sluggish, always; and he didn’t survive by being stupid and yet, his wand is a foot away on his kitchen table.

Weasley kisses him and all defenses Severus has at his disposal evaporate; all he can do is push weakly against Weasley’s bulk. He starts hyperventilating right away, panicking when Weasley forces his tongue down his throat, pushing him down, down towards his crotch, and it feels so wrong; Severus has an alpha now and even though it feels wrong with Harry more times than not it’s undoubtedly a hundred percent worse with someone not his alpha and - 

“RON,” Har – Potter bellows in his alpha voice.

Weasley freezes; Severus gasps in breath after breath after breath.

Potter’s wand is trained on them, every muscle in his body straining. A vein is pulsing in his forehead; his hand is steady.

“Step away from him,” Potter says with deadly calm. Weasley makes a pained whimper, body closing in towards Severus again. Severus makes a sound he can’t suppress, a sound he would be terribly embarrassed about if he wasn’t terrified.

There’s desperation in Potter’s eyes when he says: “Ron, you MUST step away from him. Get a fucking grip.”

Weasley moans; his hands are still on Severus’s body. Looking back, Severus will admit that he acted heedlessly, threw all caution away. He should have stepped away when Weasley paused, should not have lost his head, but he just – couldn’t, too many memories of other hands touching him rising to the surface, pressing him down, down, down until he can barely move or breath.

Weasley apparates them.

Severus gives his surroundings no attention when they land somewhere. He’d been petrified at his own home, in front of Potter, but without him is fight response kicks in; he knows now that he either manages to fight Weasley off or he can add another rape to his list of horrible things that happened to him.

Weasley tries to get him down on his knees immediately but Severus kicks him in the crotch, scratches; bites; screams his throat raw; tries to go for Weasley’s wand. He doesn’t know how long it lasts when there’s another pop; he knows it must be Potter, knows Potter has a hard time getting in a shot with them tangled up like this. He’s not sure what happens next, feels fingers at his hole through his trousers; he screams again and then there’s another shout, a flash of light and Weasley’s body grows heavy and motionless on top of him.

“Shh,” Potter says, grabbing Severus’s under his armpits to haul him up. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers, “I got you, you’re okay. You’re okay, darling, you’re okay.”

Severus isn’t. He’s shaking all over; he feels completely numb.

“Did you kill him?” he asks while Potter runs his hands over him, checking him for – injury maybe, or maybe he wants to fuck, even though Severus thinks his heat shriveled up a like a dying little thing inside him. He must still smell, he’s sure and he’s about to bend down to get it over with when Potter’s hands intercept him, tug him back up.

“I don’t know,” he says and strokes back Severus’s hair, searches his eyes for a moment, before stepping closer, slinging his arms around Severus and apparating them again.

When they land at Grimmauld, Severus’s head is somehow nestled securely against Potter’s neck and he leaves it there; it’s as good a place as any.

Potter doesn’t move them, just strokes down Severus’s head very slowly. He’s swaying them a tiny bit.

Outside, the day grows dark and darker.

“Let me lay you down,” Potter says. He sounds calm and very composed and very gentle and Severus pushes himself closer, thinks of all their years together; all the trust and attention and care and gentleness Potter gave him and sags against him, gives in to the itchiness of his eyes and throat and starts crying.

“I am so sorry,” Potter says and blast it all to hell, that’s not what Severus wants to call him.

“I don’t want to go back to calling Potter,” he says, but it comes out more as a wail; Pot – Harry tightens his arms around him.

“You can call me whatever the fuck you want,” he says and slowly steers Severus down the long hallway.

“He hurt me,” Severus says and it’s like a dam breaking, “they all hurt me, nobody ever cared, they all hurt me, Harry, they all –“

“I care,” Harry says and keeps them moving up the stairs, kicking open a door, “I care so much.”

“I don’t want to keep hurting,” Severus gasps out, “I’ve been hurting for so long. I’m so tired, Harry, I can’t keep doing it.”

“Okay,” Harry says and pushes him down until Severus sits down on a bed that he knows to be Harry’s, a bed Harry sleeps in every night, a bed Severus has not seen since their bond formed, “we’ll work on it. We’ll get you help. I’ll make it better.”

“I’m still in heat,” Severus says; surrounded by Harry’s pillows and blankets, nestled in like this on top of Harry it’s coming back full force.

“I know,” Harry says, “but we can take it slow. You can take care of it yourself; my scent in here might be enough.”

“I wanted to fuck you again,” Severus says; he feels stripped raw and open, more and more secrets spilling out, things he would not ever say if today hadn’t happened.

“Then you fuck me,” Harry says, “I love it when you fuck me. I love you so much. I’m so sorry for what happened.”

“Harry,” Severus says, not listening anymore, already burning.

\--

**2006**

Harry’s smiling at him from the big doors of the Great Hall, dimples appearing in his cheeks. He’s been crowded by students since they came in but stood alone during the speeches, not taking his eyes off Severus for a moment.

Severus isn’t sure he deserved the welcome Minerva gave him today. He knows that the story of his life has been carefully re-written, knows that Harry has had his hands in the way the Prophet writes about him nowadays. He declined the Order of Merlin they wanted to give him five years back, but it was still a boost to his public standing. More people call him hero than traitor by now.

He looks away from Harry, lets his gaze drift through the Hall. The remodeling is barely visible; you had to have been there to know about all the damage. Severus barely remembers it; the hours after bonding to Harry are a blur in his mind, hopelessly mismatched in his memory. He occluded so hard back then that he thought he would not remember his own name, was reeling so much from what he thought was to be another curse to rule his life and break him apart.

He’s still not sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Harry found him in that shack.

Minerva’s been offering him the position as potions master since he came out of Azkaban; after countless hours of therapy since 2003 and a serious effort from him in the last year, he finally feels ready to take back his life.

Hogwarts has been a home to him. He’s not self-centered enough to not know that most students will say amen to that statement, that almost everyone in this Hall today will fondly and longingly remember their Hogwarts years. He would claim it’s different for someone like him, someone like Harry, someone like Riddle but maybe he’s fooling himself.

Harry is still looking at him when Severus looks back at him.

He’s been a steady presence at Severus’s side, made sure Severus went to therapy, cleaned and cooked for him on all the days Severus could do nothing more than lift his hand to clench it into Harry’s jumper to hold on to something, anything. He’s long past the point of caring about his pride with Harry; Harry has seen him in so many horrible situations, these new ones barely register.

He’s come to trust Harry almost accidentally, almost as if trust came in one day through the back door and hid in corners until it felt comfortable enough to show itself to the world. The trust was already there before the Weasley incident, but it has grown since; Harry got him away. He never got away from an alpha intent on fucking him before; but here he is, having gotten away.

It’s so novel he could still scream with it.

It doesn’t mean that all is right as sunshine; their last heat was a disaster from start to finish but a part of Severus now believes that Harry will stick with him, will keep protecting him, will keep loving him and slowly, so very slowly other parts of Severus are getting around to the idea too.

When Harry slides up to him after the feast is over, it’s easy to lean over to him.

“Shall I call you Professor again, Professor?” Harry whispers in his ears and it makes goosebumps travel all over Severus’s back. This too, is new; the arousal he feels. They have barely kissed outside of Severus’s heats and yet, he knows, that they are travelling down a new road made entirely up of the two of them and invariably there will be a day when Severus can lean down and kiss Harry.

He’s waiting for it.

\--

**2006**

It’s a few weeks before Christmas, when Severus realizes two things: he has gotten a lot better and because his attention is less and less on just getting by day by day, is free to focus on other things, he notices: while Severus got better, Harry either got worse or not better at all.

He’s ashamed to not know if Harry was bad before; he’s survived the war by paying attention, but he’s never paid any attention on himself and by trying to ignore what was going on with Harry he was trying to ignore what was going on with himself.

It’s not that Harry is bad at hiding it; he’s rather skilled. He uses a mix at deflection, humor and refocusing the topic, but once Severus has seen his vast unhappiness he can’t unsee it.

Doing something about it, though. That’s a lot harder.

He’s at their therapist’s office; Harry’s running late, has sent an owl to let them know. They used to be here once a week but with Severus back at work and Harry recently promoted, they haven’t made it in for almost six weeks. It’s not good; they shouldn’t let therapy slide. It was hard enough finding someone who was not going to sell out their secrets to the press the moment they opened their mouths and it’s been good for them; in here, in this office that Severus spend a whole day making secure for them when they first sat up regular meetings, they can both say things, Severus would only admit to under veritaserum (and he’s been immune to it for almost 30 years, so there’s not much point in indulging).

He’s discussing holiday plans when Harry shows up 18 minutes late.

Severus knows within a second that he’s been poisoned.

He’s out of his chair as fast as he can, cupping Harry’s face a moment later to study the reaction of his pupils to light. Underneath, deep inside, he’s more scared than he’s ever been; maybe Nagini biting him had come close but back then he felt a sort of peace while right now he only feels the absolute certainty that he cannot live without Harry.

The ministry would force him to re-bond if Harry was to die; male omegas are by law to be bonded to the highest bidder if they can’t find a bond themselves. He knows that Harry has been working on getting that law taken down for ages; it’s still in force. Severus has told himself that it’s better to stick with Harry in that case, that being bonded to Harry isn’t so bad.

And now here he is, sure he can’t live without him.

Harry’s eyes are almost completely bloodshot, nose stuffed, ears without doubt popping. Most veins in his face and hands are visible; he’s clearly having muscle tremors. Based on these observations alone, Severus can already rule out about fifteen of the most common poisons; he’s pressing his fingers against his neck for a pulse when Harry’s hand comes up to circle his wrist.

“Hey,” he says, voice wrecked (that rules out another two, Severus thinks frantically), “hey, I’m fine. I’ve already been to our potion expert and to St. Mungo’s. You don’t have to freak out, Severus.”

“Shut up,” Severus says, voice tight. He knows the potion expert of the Ministry; a Slytherin called Dewarling, five years younger than Severus. And he knows the potion experts at St. Mungo’s, all former students of his. He’s not arrogant; he’s just better than all of them.

“We’re going to Hogwarts,” he says, slinks an arm around Harry’s waist, not even waiting to say goodbye. He apparates them as soon as they leave the office, pressing Harry close to himself to shield his body as much as possible from apparating. When they pop up at the edge of the wards Harry’s sweating, pushing against Severus’s chest; Severus lets him go after a second and then watches in misery when Harry falls down to his knees, retching horribly.

“What were you thinking trying to make our appointment,” he hisses, leans down to rub over Harry’s rounded back, “you belong in a bed, not therapy.”

“We can’t keep cancelling,” Harry says, sounding miserable and small and Severus helps him back up, banishing the vomit, transforming a stone into a cup to have Harry have some melted snow to at least wash his mouth.

“Are you good to walk?” he asks. Harry nods; Severus has his doubts, but he’s not going to float him as long as Harry must be too stubborn to cooperate.

When they finally make it back, Harry’s shivering, moving like an old man. Severus has him down in the dungeons as quickly as possible, guides him into his private lab, pushes him down on a lab stool.

“What did they say it was?” he asks while accio’ing the utensils he needs, swapping at Harry’s arm with a disinfect for the tiny incision his wand makes to take some blood from him.

“Putterworth’s poison,” Harry says.

“Hm,” Severus says; it would have been his obvious first choice as well, but Severus knows enough to not trust his first instinct. Putterworth’s is easily curable even if symptoms persist for hours; but there are at least three much deadlier poisons disguising themselves as Putterworth’s. By the time it’s obvious that it’s one of those, the victims are sentenced to die.

“I don’t feel good, Severus,” Harry says, and Severus takes a moment to step closer, to put his hand on his forehead to feel for a fever.

“What happened?” he asks and steps away with the blood sample, comes back a second later to take a saliva and sweat sample from Harry.

“We’re investigating a potions ring,” Harry says, “and I am legally forbidden to tell you more.”

“Meaning you can’t tell me more, even though you want to?” Severus asks; he knows that the Auror Department is working with all kinds of charms to prevent it’s Aurors from spilling secrets.

Harry smiles at him, not answering; it’s an answer enough.

Severus works in silence the next few minutes, distilling, dispensing, mixing.

He’s not sure what the poison is, not sure what it does, but he’s sure that it’s not Putterworth’s half an hour later.

He takes Harry’s arm after that, brings him over to his quarters, quietly reassures him while getting him into bed. He’s keeping a close lid on the bond; panicking will without doubt make the situation worse for Harry and so he pretends that all is fine while petting his hair for a moment.

“Love it when you touch me,” Harry says at the brink of sleep, “never get touched. Love it.”

“Okay,” Severus says quietly, unsure what else to say. The second Harry is out, he’s on the floo to call Minerva down to his lab, explaining to her what’s happening while he’s already working on the poison, on an antidote.

Minerva gets the Auror Department to spill some secrets; there was an attempt to abduct Harry earlier; in the scrimmage he got doused with the poison.

Severus ruthlessly pushes down the panic he feels at hearing that Harry didn’t ingest it; his symptoms are already severe enough and to know what they are only from being doused not drinking the poison ring all alarm bells in his head.

The next hours pass in a blur; Dewarling comes in to help; Poppy comes down to assist. It’s a mix of poisons designed into a potion, clearly made for something, something that Severus can’t pin down. He’s working a two-track system; one system trying to analyze what the poisons are doing, one trying to find a perfect fit antidote. If he can’t find a perfect fit antidote, he’ll have to downgrade to managing symptoms, but he can’t yet think about that; managing instead of curing holds a number of dangers.

They find out what the potion does when Harry wakes up screaming in pain four hours later.

Severus is out of his depth, can’t comfort him. He doesn’t know _how_ ; his father certainly never tried to do it for him and his mother’s been dead for so long he sometimes has trouble remembering her face. After presenting, comfort was used on him as a weapon to get him to comply with things he never wanted to do; Harry’s the first person in his life who was genuinely tried to comfort him, and Severus has not ever fully allowed him to do it.

He’s been part of a bad crowd; he knows that. If he had managed to not lose Lily, if he had managed to talk to someone, anyone trustworty, about what was done to him while he was bonded to Lucius his life might not have taken the turn it did. For the longest time, he tried to be more alpha than any alphas just to not be omega, pretended to not ever be hurt by anything that was thrown at him, pretended to enjoy the killing and the torture, even if he could never bring himself to engage in it, even if he always stood by. All talk, no action; Bellatrix was right about him. He imagines so often what might have happened to him if he had left the wizarding world, if he had managed to find a Muggle partner willing to tolerate his heats.

He was so embarrassed by his heats; maybe he wanted to punish himself for having them, for being omega by searching out the worst people to help him deal with them, people who saw in heats the perfect opportunity to give him what he thought he deserved: punishment for being omega, for being a half-blood when he wanted to belong to pure-bloods, for being smarter and better than all of them, for thinking he had to deserve more than his father’s fists and his mother’s apathy, for thinking that what he deserved lay in power over others instead of love for them.

Not all people are bad. It had taken Harry to fully realize it, but now that he has he can see the destructive part he played himself in not getting himself towards safety before he was entrapped as part of the Dark Lord’s circle.

They soon find out that the poison stops torturing Harry once he tells the truth to the person he’s talking too; only not the kind of truth that he would normally tell.

“I’m a bad alpha,” Harry cries to Severus, “I am hurting you all the time and I don’t want to; I am a bad alpha.”

“You’re not,” Severus says, helplessly.

“I want you to love me,” Harry continues, words falling from his lips like secrets wrung from him; he clearly tries to fight the potion but it’s rapidly overpowering his abilities, “I want to be loved. I just want to be loved, Severus. Why does nobody love me? I did everything everyone asked of me; I killed the Dark Lord. I did everything. It tore my soul to shreds but I did it and nobody loves me. I just want to be held at night. I just don’t want to be alone at night, I just want someone to wake me up when I have nightmares. I dream about the cupboard all the time. I just want to come to you when I have a bad dream, I just –“

Severus spells him mute.

Harry’s mouth keeps moving; the tears keep spilling. The frantic pace of his confessions only picks up more and more steam; after three hours of Harry trudging after Severus in the lab, mouth working soundlessly the whole time, the pain starts to come back even though he keeps talking. By that time, Harry is so deep into a panic attack that it must be the potion that’s keeping him going; Severus does the only thing he can think of and calls Weasley to sit with him while he works.

He hasn’t seen Weasley since the incident; can guess that Harry has not forgiven Weasley. And still, Weasley is there within ten minutes, wraps himself around Harry.

“Don’t cancel the spell,” Severus tells him before returning back to the lap, “they are not your secrets to hear.”

“Yeah,” Weasley says; Severus can tell that he wants to say more, so he quickly adds: “call me when it gets worse,” before he flees.

It gets worse and worse and then Severus manages to isolate the strand of poison causing the pain at three in the morning, administers an antidote to Harry half an hour later; it doesn’t stop the talking but it stops the pain.

Harry struggles out of Weasley’s grip when Severus is done feeding him the antidote, stands up on unsteady feet. The need to talk doesn’t allow him to sleep; Harry pushes himself into the smallest corner of Severus’s quarters, makes himself even smaller in there, arms wrapped around himself, whole body turned away from them when Weasley tries to get him back into bed.

“Leave us for a moment,” Severus tells Weasley. He’s uncomfortable talking to Weasley, asking things of him; but he has to, for Harry’s sake.

Harry’s face is as much of a mess as Severus has ever seen, when he carefully lifts his chin to look at him.

For a moment, they study each other, Harry talking all the while; then Severus lifts the muting spell.

“I wish I was omega,” Harry is saying, “and you my alpha. I wish we could have heats that don’t make you want to die. I want to die during our heats, all the time. I wish I didn’t have a cock but a vagina so you wouldn’t need to –“

“Merlin,” Severus says and mutes him again.

Early in the morning, Severus has worked out how to end the talking. A few minor symptoms are still working their ways through Harry’s body, but the immediate danger has passed; he sends Dewarling and Poppy on their way, asks Weasley to leave.

Then, for the first time in his adult life, he climbs willingly into bed with someone.

Harry’s body feels like that of a ragdoll; he easily manipulates him until Harry is resting on his chest. Harry has done this for him before, after Weasley attacked him; he’s mimicking in the hopes that it’s helping, keeps petting Harry’s hair until they both fall asleep.

When he wakes up, Harry is gone, and he doesn’t see him until his next heat.

\--

**2007**

They can’t find a way out.

There’s nothing to be done about Severus needing to have heats, about Severus hating his heats; he would prefer to never have intimacy ever again in his life.

Maybe there was a short window in which it could have been different but since Harry left his bed and was unreachable ever since, Severus heart has hardened up in a ball of stone.

“You suppressed it?” Harry repeats for the third time, still unbelieving; Severus sneers.

“You gave no indication you would be here today,” he says, haughty as hell; he knows how his voice can hurt, “and besides, I am done being your fucktoy. I won’t be having a heat again, not ever. I’d rather die.”

“Which the healers say you will without heats,” Harry says after a moment, clearly with some effort.

“We all die eventually, Mr. Potter,” Severus says and turns back to the essays he has to grade.

Harry doesn’t move. Severus doesn’t look up.

“I never wanted you to know these things,” Harry says, “I never wanted you to feel – pressured.”

Severus is so tired.

“And I never wanted the bond,” he says and doesn’t look up when Harry leaves.

\--

**2008**

For their ten-year anniversary, Harry’s support gets the notion of unbonded male omegas through the Ministry.

He quietly shows up later that same day, in his uniform, clean-shaven and serious looking. Severus studies him for a moment; everything in Harry does not want to do what he’s about to do, and yet, here he is, for Severus’s sake.

Severus, though. He remembers what he felt when he realized that Harry was poisoned. He wants freedom; freedom is, for the first time in his life so, so close.

But, god, in his own twisted way he’s gotten to love Harry; but because he has, he knows he needs freedom for both of them.

Harry needs more than Severus could ever give.

“Thought you wanted to get this done was quickly as possible,” Harry says, “though I have no real idea how to – break a bond.”

“The others had no problem finding out,” Severus says and something painful crosses over Harry’s face. Severus keeps himself from saying that Harry was not like the others; there’s a wild hope hammering in his chest that he’ll be free, finally, finally free.

Harry sighs, steps closer, quietly reaches out and runs his thumb over the biting mark on Severus’s neck, before leaning their heads together and closing his eyes.

The bond lifts with a little tug; they keep standing together for a moment. When Severus opens his eyes, Harry’s are still closed, leaking moisture.

“I want you to find someone who can appreciate all you have to give,” Severus tells him, “I am sorry I couldn’t be that person. You’ll appreciate it soon enough; there are a million people out there who are better suited for you.”

Harry’s smile is a grimace when he lets go off Severus.

“You just don’t understand,” he says, “I know I can’t understand your side either but you – this is breaking my heart, Severus. I failed you. I failed my omega.”

“You gave me exactly what I wanted,” Severus says.

\--

**2009**

Even though it was exactly what Severus wanted, it stings like hell to read of Harry Potter’s engagement to Ginevra Weasley in the Prophet a year later.

Severus is pettily angry at Harry until he sees their wedding pictures six months later; then his heart clenches and clenches and clenches.

Harry’s smiling, laughing in the camera, kissing Weasley. Maybe it’s not because of the bond but because of Severus’s skills in mind magic but he can see right through it, sees a man at the end of his rope, barely holding on.

Harry’s not even 30 and Severus ruined him.

It’s been ringing in his head ever since Harry said it; that Severus cannot understand him just as Harry could not ever understand Severus. He’s toyed with a few potion ideas, has a prototype waiting, a prototype that will allow him to feel what Harry felt for him, what any alpha feels through a true bond for his omega.

He’s scared of taking it.

The potion violates all kinds of regulations, ethical considerations, could never be marketed. Severus is not being honest when he thinks of toying with it; he’s been slaving to pull it off, obsessed with it whenever he was not teaching. It was his contribution during the first war; designing potions that took you somewhere else, that allowed you to imagine sex with someone or play a Death Eater or Auror. They financed a lot of the war effort, allowed Severus to beg out of the killing to work on them.

He looks at Harry’s haunted eyes and downs it. Being sat free from him has somehow had the contradictory effect of Severus missing him all the time and he can’t stand it –

His freedom has been a trap and he knows it. He could quit the others because the bonds were not strong, and they abused him on top of it, but the omega inside him yearns for Harry, grieves the true bond, wants to go back to what they had however little it was. He hates it; but he’s also so tired of fighting it, doesn’t know how to fight it. It’s all so inevitable in his life; and while he deeply resents that he can’t help it he lays awake each night wishing for his alpha to be there to protect him.

It takes maybe three minutes but for Severus a lifetime passes; a lifetime of an alpha caring for an omega. Harry’s right; he could never imagine what it feels like to live in a true bond as alpha. For Harry, Severus is a part of him; something undeniable, something inseparable from what Harry is. For Harry, breaking the bond must have been like carving out a life force, like giving away his life force – like creating a horcrux.

It’s a paradigm shift for Severus, but not one he knows how to deal with.

Severus thought he was free at last, but here he is, grieving for Harry as if he was dead, breaking apart all over again.

He doesn’t know how to get better; he doesn’t know how to reconcile what he now understands about Harry with what was done to him; what it feels like for him to be omega.

He trashes his living quarters, cuts deep into every part of his body, whimpers and screams and rages until he falls asleep from exhaustion.

\--

**2010**

Just before he turns 30, Harry almost gets killed.

He’s begging for Severus at the hospital and there’s nothing in Severus that can deny him.

He’s looking horrible; Severus cannot describe the damage to his body. They are about to put him under; they’ve only waited so that Harry could talk to Severus. Ginevra Weasley’s eyes are very accusatory when he pushes past her.

“I need you to find someone you can trust to have heats,” Harry says, “I can’t – bear the idea of you dying because you can’t have them. It wouldn’t be – it would be a horrible death. It doesn’t have to be an alpha; you can find a beta.”

“They are even rarer than me,” Severus says quietly. They are not touching, but god, he wants to touch Harry.

“In the UK, yes,” Harry says, “but you can go to the US. You can go to China or India. There are more people there that can help you.”

“Promise me,” Harry says, and Severus knows enough about the human psyche to know what to say.

“I won’t,” he says, “if you want me to find someone, you’ll have to get out of here alive and come back to find me someone. You’re the only one I can – trust.”

Harry’s eyes widen; slowly and with great effort he lifts a hand, carefully touches Severus’s cheek.

He pulls through; the healers call it a miracle.

Severus calls it goddamn common sense.

\--

**2011**

“The three top things you need me to do if we try it again,” Severus says quietly, “so I don’t hurt you as much as I hurt you the last time.”

Harry smiles, dimple appearing in his cheek.

Severus feels ready to admit that it’s fucking adorable; and he’s not a man who thinks highly of the concept of adorableness.

They are in the Muggle café they started meeting in after Harry was out of the hospital and divorced. It’s been – good and horrible all at once; Severus’s body craves Harry, wants to go back to belonging to its alpha.

Harry has not shared how it’s been for him, but Severus can see the scars the last two years have left. Harry’s more cautious, less generous with his care and attention, keeps more to himself. Severus is sure that he’s desperately lonely and it hurts somewhere deep; to know that his own indecisiveness is responsible for Harry losing his wife, losing his job, surely losing some of his friends.

They will not ever talk about it, but Severus knows that Harry was looking to get killed a year ago; and he promised himself that night in the hospital to take care of Harry’s heart for as long as Harry cannot do it himself.

“The top three things,” Harry repeats, teasingly. Then he must start to think about it, because the smile disappears.

“I don’t know Severus,” he says after a long moment, fiddling with his spoon.

“You know very well,” Severus says, “just tell me. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know. I want to – make the effort.”

Harry looks at him, studies his face. There’s an unhappy slant to his mouth, but he doesn’t look as downcast as he did in the last few months.

“I need,” he starts, stops himself. Severus leans forward a little, trying to block some of the bustle of the café. They are under a privacy charm, but he knows that Harry does not deal well with masses of people any more, with attention.

Harry rubs a hand roughly over his face; huffs out a laugh. Severus waits some more; then reaches out a hand, carefully settles his on top of one of Harry’s.

“I wouldn’t ask,” he repeats, “if I didn’t want to make a change.”

Touching Harry is risky; it can quickly override his suppressants.

“I need to be touched,” Harry says, all in a rush, “I – nobody touched me. When I was – little. I need you to – explain better when I’m overwhelming you. I sometimes can’t read you at all and I know I don’t get all of your jokes or references, but it makes me feel stupid if I don’t. I need you to – I need –“

“Breathe,” Severus says quietly, doesn’t move his hand.

“I don’t want you to feel as if you have to do this because you’re my true bond partner,” Harry concludes, not looking at him.

“I don’t mind you saying omega,” Severus says after a moment.

“I mind it,” Harry says immediately; like always when Severus makes that comment.

“Explain that last statement to me,” Severus says, still in that soft soothing voice he knows Harry likes.

“I want you to want me,” Harry says. He’s not breathing right; his hand is twitching. “I want to be – wanted. For me. Just me. Not alpha Harry. I still have not – I still don’t feel alpha. I want you to like _me_.”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t like you,” Severus says after a moment, “but we have to be realistic. Without the bond, you’d be happily married for years, not bothering to talk to me. Without the bond, I would likely be dead. We can’t quit each other, because of the bond, Harry.”

“It’s supposed to be a positive thing,” Harry whispers, “it’s supposed to be the best thing in your life. A fucking true bond; a soul partner. And all it does is ripping everything apart.”

“To be fair,” Severus says and then links their fingers, “that’s mostly me.”

  
“Severus,” Harry admonishes, “don’t be silly.”

“I imagine it sometimes,” Severus admits, “how it would be if I – had found you. At the start. If none of the other things would have happened. And then I must stop thinking about it, because it – it tears me down.”

“I like you,” Harry says, staring him down now, “just the way you are. History and all that. I wouldn’t change – a thing.”

They look at each other. Then they kiss; just a soft press; but god, it makes Severus’s heart beat like nothing else. Both in the good sense and in the bad.

He’s slowly learning to not see something horrible in the balance.

“Your three things,” Harry says after a moment.

“No heats,” Severus says, “and no heats and no heats.”

“Oh boy,” Harry says, and the dimple is back; something in Severus relaxes seeing it.

“Not right now,” he says and can’t keep looking at Harry.

“Okay,” Harry agrees easily, “I want three other things. Three things that would make you happy. Truly happy. Three things you cannot even admit wanting to yourself.”

“It would be a bit hard admitting them then,” Severus says drily. Harry squeezes his hand.

“You protecting me,” Severus says, and now it’s him who can’t look at Harry, “I – it makes me happy. I can’t – protect myself against certain types of alphas.”

“You can,” Harry says, “you have. But I am happy to help out.”

“I love it when you touch me non-sexually,” Severus says, “I love it so much when you show me affection. It’s – I missed that so much when we didn’t see each other.”

“Any goddamn time,” Harry says, voice rougher now.

“I trust you,” Severus says, “I never – Harry, I never trusted anyone. I want to keep trusting you more than anything else. I don’t want to keep doing this alone.”

“I don’t want you to either,” Harry says, very slowly lifts their joined hands and brushes a kiss against Severus’s knuckles.

Everything inside Severus quivers and once again it’s all; the worst, the best.

“Brutal honesty,” he says, “promise me Harry. Even if it hurts. But I need honesty.”

“Yes,” Harry answers.

\--

**2012**

“Shit,” Severus says, “god. Harry.”

“Slowly,” Harry answers, “we’ll go so slowly. You tell me to stop, we’ll stop. The second it doesn’t feel right, we’ll stop.”

“I feel so good inside you,” Severus says, “you feel so – I love this.”

“Take your time,” Harry says, “I’m right here. I won’t ever be anywhere else ever again, I promise.”

“Merlin, this is so different from heat sex,” Severus says, “this is so – I _chose_ this.”

“I know,” Harry says, “darling, I know.”

\--

**2013**

Harry doesn’t ask for help and for a few days Severus is angry about it, but then he can’t help remembering Harry as the young boy he was when Severus met him; the way he never asked questions, hid behind humor and sarcasm, couldn’t believe that people liked him, his distrust in adults in general and Severus in particular.

He goes to him one evening; Harry’s been staying at Hogwarts a lot, but he’s made himself sparse since telling Severus that he needed to testify for his cousin. The last weeks suddenly made sense; his twitchiness, how he avoided at all costs to stay the night, the absentmindedness, how he took to being outside a lot. Severus knows he’s mildly claustrophobic; the signs were all there and yet he didn’t see.

It’s funny how the lack of acute danger to your life makes you so much less perceptive.

Harry’s opening the door of Grimmauld in Severus’s bathrobe, looking young and sad.

“Idiot,” Severus mutters and presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth, allows himself in before Harry can find an excuse to avoid talking about this.

Grimmauld looks even more run-down than usual, Severus notes with disdain. He waits for Harry to lock back up, before turning around, studying him.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks finally, watches Harry shrug and collapse even more into himself.

“How could I not?” Harry asks, and Severus sighs, walks back over and tugs him close, urges Harry’s head on his shoulder. Harry draws in a deep shuddering sigh and then becomes boneless against Severus; Severus locks his arms around him and waits him out.

It’s moments like these when he’s absolutely astonished at how far they have come.

“He’s my family,” Harry tries but sounds unconvinced. Severus turns his head to speak into his hair, knows that Harry likes that.

“Sharing some genes doesn’t make him your family,” he says calmly.

“He was just a kid too, you know,” Harry says, “they – it wasn’t his fault that they –“

  
“Please don’t,” Severus says, “I know how much you’re still hurting. Don’t diminish it by trying to rationalize it. They treated you abhorrently.”

Harry is quiet for a moment, hands clenching in Severus’s robes. His breathing is a tad unsteady; he presses even closer.

“They asked me,” he says, “they took all kinds of trouble to get in touch with me. It’s – they never asked anything of me before and I –“

“Am an irresponsible savior unwilling to not help when you can?” Severus finishes for him, softens his words by brushing down Harry’s spine. Harry shrugs; they both know that there’s some truth in Severus’s words. Severus is not a fan of this side of Harry, knows it’s born out of self-neglect and an unhealthy addiction to proving his own self-worth, but he’s also not judgmental, can’t be judgmental being the basket case he is.

“Let me come with you if you want to do it,” he says, “I don’t want you to face them alone.”

“I can do it,” Harry says, but he’s tremoring, just slightly, just a tiny bit, holding himself on edge.

Severus knows exactly what to say, because Harry’s been saying variations of this for years. “I know you can,” he says, “my point is: you don’t have to.”

Harry breaths out, a big whoosh of breath. “Fuck,” he says, “I get so – mushy inside when you say stuff like that.”

“My big bad alpha mush,” Severus says softly, makes sure to tone his voice so that Harry hears affection and warmth.

Harry huffs out a laugh against him.   
  
“You’re tired,” Severus says, “I know you haven’t been sleeping. Let’s go upstairs and you get some rest.”

“I hate it here,” Harry says. It’s an admission Severus has been waiting for for months, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. They learnt to treat even the biggest secrets with causality; it’s been helpful, made their big reveals less scary.

“I’ve been asked 40 times where you were in the last week,” Severus says, “do me and the brats a favor and come back. I don’t like how they don’t respect the privacy of my office hours any longer.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry laughs, “they’re all still scared of you.”

Severus sighs; his conduct as Harry’s teacher is one of his more painful memories. He’s been trying to tone himself down but there are some things that are harder to reform; he can try for Harry but for anyone else progress is a lot slower.

It probably has to do with the fact that Harry has been seeing him in truer colors in the last years, while others still want to see the front Severus presents to the world. It’s his armor; he’s paradoxically unable to let go of this side of his personality and hurt when people don’t recognize it as a front.

“Come back with me,” he repeats instead, feels Harry nod against his throat. He rests his chin on the top of Harry’s head, has to stretch up a bit to do it.

“Thanks for getting me,” Harry says. Severus hums and keeps waiting until Harry is ready to go.

\--

**2014**

For Christmas that year, Severus gives Harry back his friends.

The short and doomed marriage to Ginevra has cut deep into Harry’s relationships with all his former Gryffindor friends; but Severus has taught the youngest Weasley, knows how fierce and loyal and protective she is. Of course, she’s alpha too, but he asks her to meet him anyway, arranges for a coffee date in a small Muggle town close to where she’s playing Quidditch professionally.

“He never wanted to hurt you,” he says and watches Ginevra Weasley sigh.

“I knew he couldn’t stop loving you,” she says, “he was upfront about it, told me that if you needed him he would always have to go. That if you had a heat and asked him to spend it with you, he would need to go. I shouldn’t be surprised it ended like this; he cried secretly in the shower almost every day. He tracked you all the time. He would sit in the dark at home and do nothing for hours. I knew he was bad; I thought I could make him better just by being there and I was wrong.”

“I failed him,” Severus says quietly. It’s true. Sure, he’s omega in their relationship; the whole world was expecting Harry to protect him not the other way around. But Harry’s been giving him the gift to live what he always knew; that gender roles between omegas and alphas never needed to be fixed the way they were narrated. He couldn’t break out of the narrative like Harry did. He’s twenty years older; he should have given Harry a lot more guidance than he did.

“He’s a very forgiving type,” Ginevra says and grins.

“And you?” Severus asks, watches her grow serious again. “He’s missing you. He’s missing your brothers and your parents. He’s not been at the Burrow since the divorce.”

“I’m less forgiving,” Ginevra says after a moment, “but I love him. Will you come with him if we invite you for Christmas?”

The memory of Ronald Weasley’s hands grabbing him rises up in Severus’s mind.

“No,” he says, “I am a solitary creature. But he’s not.”

“I’ll invite him,” Ginevra says, “if you join him. Don’t you think he’ll need a little support?”

Well-played, Severus thinks and goes along to the Weasley a week later. Harry’s nervous next to him, bouncing with energy. Severus stills him by linking their fingers, drawing him in a little. From what he can tell, it goes well; Harry talks and laughs and has a few drinks; only intercepts Severus’s interactions whenever Ronald comes close to him.

He’s discussing Muggle television with Arthur when Granger sits down next to them, asks Arthur to get her a drink.

“I’m glad you’re here today,” she says. Severus nods; she’s unnerving him. He’s acutely aware of her being the wife of the man who wanted to rip him to shreds.

“You asked Ginny to invite him,” Hermione says, “as a Christmas gift. Can I ask you to forgive Ron as a Christmas gift? He has not been himself ever since it happened.”

Ronald Weasley’s broad shoulders are shaking with laughter while he jokes with George and Harry. Something rips painfully in Severus’s chest. Forgiveness; he doesn’t know how to do it. He wants them all to bleed to death for what they did to him.

But vengeance has gotten him into a truly horrible position before; and he knows the difference between a good man doing a bad thing and a bad man doing bad things.

“Not to his face,” he says, because she can’t ask it of him, “but I might be able to write a letter.”  
  


“I always had a thing for your writing,” Granger answers, winks at him and disappears back into the crowd.

\--

**2015**

It’s time; Severus knows. He can tell that his body is slowly failing him; he feels not well most days now.

Harry’s been quiet, giving Severus space. They don’t need to kid themselves; once it’s getting into dangerous territory, Harry will advocate for having the heat. Severus knows it’s costing him to keep so quiet about it; he appreciates it nonetheless.

Harry’s been Hogwarts DADA teacher for half a year and the school is still going crazy about it; his office hours are ridiculously crowded.

He comes to Severus’s quarters each night. He has his own, but Severus has grown to like it; Harry’s things intermixed with his, the slow exploration of their shared sexuality, the nights they spend discussing students.

The nights they’ve been telling stories; of cupboards and accidental magic and family. Severus has been telling him stories of Lily. Harry has been telling him the story of the snake at the zoo. They’ve talked about Harry’s seventh year, about Severus’s time as headmaster.

Four months ago, Severus rolled over, hid his face against Harry’s neck and told him about his first heat, about the others that followed.

He thinks Albus’s indifference was the worst, maybe. The way he had no regard for Severus at all, viewed him as a means to achieve an orgasm, nothing else. It was more horrific and painful with Voldemort, but the deepest scars are of feeling as if he was just a thing to be used, not a human person. In all other regards, Albus was his best friend up until his death; maybe that’s what makes it so horrible.

Harry has not said much, just held him, kissed his brow. In the morning he gave Severus the usual goodbye kiss; in the evening he returned and complained about Ravenclaws and their endless theoretical questions (Severus secretly appreciates those the most).

It’s normalcy wrapped into acceptance. It’s Harry not ever blaming Severus for what was done to him in the past, saying silly things like “you’re a survivor,” that Severus pretends to find ridiculous while he’s grown addicted to hearing them. It’s somehow Severus’s life. He wouldn’t have it any other way, not anymore.

This evening, Harry comes home a little later, walks over to where Severus stands at the window, looking outside. He traded the dungeon rooms for something in one of the towers; he can admit that the view over the forest is soothing.

Harry wraps him in his arms, hooks his chin over Severus’s shoulder.

“I’m terrified it’ll ruin all progress,” Severus whispers after a moment of silence.

“I don’t know what to say,” Harry says, “except that I am so in. I’m so in, Severus. If it ruins all progress and you’ll allow me to, we’ll rebuild. We can’t rebuild the alternative and I can’t think about the alternative without having a meltdown.”

“You’ll guide me through it?” Severus asks. It’s one of these questions; he couldn’t have asked it ten years ago, five years ago, three years ago, but here he is, asking for help like any sane person. The alternative is not really an alternative for him either; the idea of leaving Harry, he also doesn’t tolerate very well.

“Always,” Harry whispers, keeps hugging him.

“There’s a potion on your desk,” Severus says, “it will allow you to perceive the world as omega. Specifically, me. I designed it; I would go straight to Azkaban if anyone knew about it.”

“Oh,” Harry says neutrally; he’s always neutral when he tries to figure out what it is Severus wants to say.

“I designed one from you after you got married,” Severus says, “to understand what you meant when you said that I could never understand what I mean to you. You were right. It changed my perspective. You don’t have to take yours –“

Harry is already going for it, picks it up, downs it in one go. Severus watches his face go slack, waits three minutes to Harry coming back to himself.

He starts crying straight away.

“I wish I could take your heats from you,” he says later, when they are in bed, cuddling close. Severus’s heat is building slowly; the suppressants of the last years make him feel sluggish and tired.

“I trust you to handle them,” Severus says, meaning it. Harry kisses him, gently pets his back and chest.

When Severus burns, he fucks Harry; after all this time, it still feels good.

He panics once or twice, but Harry gets him calmed down easily enough. They go slow, so slow and Severus realizes that he’s come so far, that he’s someone who can enjoy sex now, as long as it’s with Harry, as long as he can trust Harry to have his back. Even, with certain limits, heat sex; even if he’ll always prefer sex outside of heats.

He’ll never enjoy the inevitableness of his heats, but he’s secure with Harry, can allow himself to fall and be caught and so he does.

\--

**2016**

“Bond us,” Severus says. For the first time in years Harry’s inside him during a heat, shudders so much that Severus feels it everywhere.

  
He wanted it today; his heat has been particularly strong this year. He kept thinking of Harry pushing into him, filling him; Harry’s been all patient and loving about it, prepared him for ages even though he was so slick he thinks Harry could have pushed his fist right in.

It was the right thing to do; Harry often knows better than Severus what Severus needs during sex and when he slowly, so slowly pushed into him there was no pain, no fear, no memories, just a good slow stretch and the feeling of belonging.

“You – Severus – you,” he says, hips losing all rhythm.

“I’ll never be able to say the other thing,” Severus says, “but I can say this. Please, Harry.”

The world comes crashing down this time; Harry bites and Severus is flying so high he’s sure he’s dead.

He doesn’t mind at all; comes back to Harry cleaning them up, nuzzling up to Severus, cuddling him close.

“Fuck,” Severus says and Harry laughs.

He can’t say it, but the bond is open, and he knows Harry feels it anyway; it’s all around them.

\--

**2017**

It’s just Harry’s kind of luck that in his first year of being Gryffindor’s head, he has to deal with the worst case of domestic abuse Hogwarts has seen in decades.

The boy’s name is Willy Fowles; he’s a muggle-born from Leicester, living alone with his father and his uncle.

They shared him for all kinds of horrible things; Severus looks at him and sees a mix of Harry’s childhood, Tom’s childhood, his own youth and he could wail and rage at it all.

The boy is only 11 but already presented as omega, no doubt due to the excessive sexual violence used on him.

He remembers Harry saying “it tore my soul to shreds”; Willy Fowles does the same to both of them.

Severus sees it long before Harry comes to realize it, doesn’t caution Harry against becoming overly attached, knows that to be futile. Harry’s got a soft spot the size of the sun for Severus and his history, for omegas and the pressures they face; it’s no wonder his heart flies out to a boy that reminds him without doubt of Severus.

Severus listens to Harry rant about it for hours when the summer holidays draw closer; Willy is set to stay at an orphanage. He hasn’t asked them to take him in, but he’s been clingy, both with Severus and Harry.

“Let’s get custody rights,” Severus interrupts Harry’s monologuing, opens the bond to let Harry know he’s sincere.

The sex that night is pretty fantastic (and god, Severus thinks, it’s me, look at me, how can it be _me_ , thinking that sex can be fantastic; even it sometimes it isn’t even if they both have their best intentions).

Willy is weepy when they tell him, keeps saying thank you. Severus reaches out to him, presses him against his side, soothes down his golden hair. Their new son looks nothing like either of them, but what does it matter.

A son, Severus thinks, looks at Harry’s face. He’s so unguarded, watching them with a kind of hunger Severus understands now. He didn’t know he craved a family before he got one and now he cannot ever let them go.

I love you, he thinks without thinking, naturally directs it through the bond. He panics a little straight after, but Willy asks him what’s wrong with scared eyes and Severus gets himself back from the brink easily after that, doesn’t want to scare their kid.

My kid, he thinks, my bondmate. It seemed unfathomable for so long and here he is; happy. He’s happy. He’s so happy.

It’s more than he ever hoped to have.


End file.
